


limited time offer

by spookyfoot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: LABEL YOUR GIFTS, M/M, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Post-Canon, Victor's Foot Thing, is lilia an avatar of the grim reaper? we'll never know, the ankle is the gateway to the foot, yurio's terrible teenage crush, yuuri is the new dread pirate roberts, yuuri's harem of hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Three weeks earlier, during a Skype session with Phichit equally fuelled by Victor’s hideously expensive vodka and Yuuri’s crushing loneliness at Victor being away for more than twelve hours, Yuuri decided he was going to give Victor the best Christmas/Birthday of his life. With sex coupons.(“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Phichit said.“I,” Yuuri slurred, with all the certainty of a drunk man pawning off his actions on the victim of his sober self, “am a genius. Someone give me a Nobel Peace Prize. Homemade sex coupons will save the world.”“Absolutely.” Phichit said thousands of miles away in a different timezone watching Yuuri make five different coupons for “whatever you want to do with my feet.” “Someone give this man yet another gold medal.” )In the end, it was Sober Yuuri that made the terrible miscalculation of using the same adorable poodle wrapping paper for Yuri and Victor’s gifts. Presently he’s moved on from googling “how to build a time machine” to “demon pacts????? Can I make one?????”____Yuuri accidentally mixes up Victor and Yurio's gifts. It goes about as well as you'd expect.





	limited time offer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cafecliche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafecliche/gifts), [doodlesonice](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=doodlesonice).



> hey cafecliche, remember when i said i'd write this as a cheer up thing in a night and it would be maybe 1k? 
> 
> iplayedmyself.gif
> 
> *yells into the void*

As with most of the mortifying events in Yuuri’s life, the Christmas Fiasco (capitals one hundred percent necessary) is entirely Drunk Yuuri’s fault—because his drunk self is a hedonistic nihilist who delights in leaving Sober Yuuri to pick up the pieces.

It’s three days after Japanese Nationals and Yuuri fidgets in his seat at Victor’s belated birthday party, twisting his hands and sneaking glances at the clock. They’ve agreed that they’re all opening their gifts at the stroke of nine. The clock tolls, and everyone tears into their presents, sending a flurry of wrapping paper into the air until gravity takes hold and it drifts back down to blanket the floor.

Yuuri doesn’t even look at his own gift. His hands move on their own, unveiling the box followed by whatever’s inside. Next to him, Victor opens a medium sized plain brown box. Yuuri didn’t want to give away his gift with box size and labels.

Victor’s brows draw together before he pastes a capital “S” Smile on his face—something Yuuri hasn’t seen since the last time an interviewer asked if Victor’s coaching was jeopardizing his comeback—and turns to Yuuri.

“You shouldn’t have,” Victor says. Which, in this case, sounds less like a self-deprecating version of thank you and more like a “what the fuck was my husband thinking, better smile through it.”

(Yuuri’s gotten very good at reading Victor’s Smiles. It’s just that ever since that long humid summer in Hasetsu, they’ve usually been directed at other people.)

“You’re…welcome?” Yuuri says, unable to restrain himself from adding question mark to his inflection.

He shifts his chair closer, resolving—for the thirty seventh time—that he’s never going to trust his drunk self’s judgment again. Drunk Yuuri is the reason he still can’t set foot in any Chili’s in the United States. Even the ones that are franchised.

When he sees what’s in the box, Yuuri chokes on his own tongue, eyes wide. Everyone in the room has to be able to hear his internal screaming. He’s sure he’s going to get a text from Mari about it, that’s how loud it is.

 _If Victor has…_ Yuuri thinks before sneaking a glance across the room, _that means Yuri…_

Yuri face looks like someone’s dropped him in a pot of boiling water. He catches Yuuri’s eye for exactly one millisecond before scrambling out of his chair so fast it tips over and clatters to the floor. “I’m going to check the pilot light in the oven!” Yuri barks, with all the dignity his puberty-ravaged vocal cords can muster.

Yuri roadrunner's into the kitchen—just far enough to plausibly deny hearing someone call his name—before Yuuri even has a chance to process that Yuri took his gift—no, _Victor’s_ gift—with him.

If there was any time where the probability of spontaneous combustion was near one hundred percent, it was now. The only other time in his life that he’d felt like this was after the Pyeongchang Olympics, when he’d called everyone on the Canadian Hockey Team "Chad" and after they’d finished their events, Phichit had insisted on a mock version of “name that tune” called Name That Chad.

(Victor had gotten a perfect score and then called JJ “Jules Verne”.)

“Excuse us, I need to go give Victor a blowjob,” Yuuri screeches, wrapping a hand around the crook of Victor’s elbow and pulling him into their room while Victor continues cradling the box “his” gift came in. Mila laughs hysterically, Georgi runs through his customary sonnets to romance, and Yakov studiously observes his empty glass as though willing it to refill itself.

Three weeks earlier, during a Skype conversation with Phichit that was equally fuelled by Victor’s hideously expensive vodka and Yuuri’s crushing loneliness at Victor being away for more than twelve hours, Yuuri decided he was going to give Victor the best Christmas/Birthday of his life. With sex coupons.

(“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Phichit said.

“I,” Yuuri slurred, with all the certainty of a drunk man pawning off his actions on the victim of his sober self, “am a genius. Someone give me a Nobel Peace Prize. Homemade sex coupons will save the world.”

“Absolutely.” Phichit said, thousands of miles away, in a different timezone, watching Yuuri make five different coupons for “whatever you want to do with my feet.” “Someone give this man yet another gold medal.” )

In the end, it was Sober Yuuri that had made the terrible miscalculation of using the same adorable poodle wrapping paper for both Yuri and Victor’s gifts. And now, hiding from his own party, he’s moved on from googling “how to build a time machine” to “demon pacts???? Can I make one???”

(He actually finds a WikiHow article on that one, but it’s too late to get the passion fruit puree from the grocery store.)

Plans foiled, he reverts to plan B, which is to curl up on their bed and aggressively pretend that none of this ever happened.

Victor’s cautiously approaching the bed, box tucked under his arm. He sits on the edge, opens it again, and stares at the contents.

“Oh,” Victor says,“I didn’t know you were into this?” Victor says, eyeing the tiger kigurumi and stack of gift cards that should have been in the kitchen. With Yuri. “But I mean, for you…I’ll definitely try anything.” Meanwhile, Yuuri’s trying to wake up from what has to be a nightmare. Victor looks up. “Yuuri? Are you alright?”

There’s no way to mistake Yuuri’s glass shattering screech as anything other than an emphatic “no”.

“Sweetheart?”

Yuuri’s curled up around Makkachin in their bed. “Just leave me to die.”  He’d tried to run out out of the apartment and all the way to Spain but Victor has obnoxiously long legs and a magnetic pull to Yuuri’s side.

“I think that would violate our wedding vows.”

Oh god, Yuuri had signed those coupons “happy birthday/Christmas skating Jesus.” If Yuri sees the “pedicure and ‘pedicure’” combination coupon Yuuri will start a new life as the Dread Pirate Roberts. It’s a solid plan. Victor can come if he promises that he’ll adopt Yuuri’s strategy of militant obliviousness and _never mention this again_.

But until he can locate a decent used pirate ship, he’ll just have to pretend he’s developed a deadly allergy to being alone in a room with Yuri.

Once he’s gotten the coupons back. He put a lot of work into that scavenger hunt.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s scooting closer, not touching, though Yuuri can feel Victor’s hand dart out and drop just before it makes contact with his spine. “Can I touch you?”

Yuuri makes a noise.

“Is that a yes?”

Yuuri nods, and Victor curls up around him. “What’s going on?”

“That’s not your gift,” Yuuri mumbles.

“What was that?”

“ _That’s not your gift_.” Yuuri turns in Victor’s arms and buries his face into Victor’s neck. It smells like a mix of Victor’s absurdly expensive cologne, fresh pine needles from the real tree they’d smuggled into the apartment, and skin. It smells like home.

Sometimes it’s easier to talk like this, murmuring secrets into Victor’s skin like he can impart understanding as though through osmosis.

“Then whose gift…” Victor starts, words thick and lingering on his tongue.

Yuuri closes his eyes. “Yuri’s.” Victor stiffens in his arms.

“And my gift…”

“Is something he never should have seen.” Yuuri’s never going to look Yuri in the eye again. Even flipping through five pages of the coupon book is way more than Yuuri ever wanted Yuri to know about his and Victor’s sex life.

Oh god, if he’s seen the compression sock, or sock drawer coupons, Yuuri’s going to self immolate. Yuuri had gotten the leather and lace compression socks made for their wedding, and Victor cried that night—for multiple reasons. Victor’s labelled all of his socks with “property of Victor Nikiforov” _and_ he’s arranged them into categories and separated them by occasion: daily, laundry day socks, exhibitionist apparel, rated r, compression, and NC-17 code Eros. He’d even used a label maker for the occasion.

“Which is?”

Yuuri pulls back from Victor’s neck just so that Victor can see him roll his eyes, “Just because we’re going to live the rest of our lives as pirates doesn’t mean I’m going to spoil your birthmas present.” Yuuri thinks it says a lot about the strength of their marriage that Victor doesn't even blink an eye at the mention of living a life of piracy.

“Well, how am I supposed to get it back from Yuri if I don’t know what it is?”

“I…” Oh no, this means Yuuri’s going to have to talk to Yuri. “You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m the best—it’s in my name. What did you call me the last time we got drunk together? Winner McWInnerson?”

“More like Loser McLoserson,” Yuuri grumbles. He still hasn’t moved out of Victor’s arms.

“You sound just like Yuri. See? You’re much better qualified to talk to him than I am,” Victor says, and then, almost in a low rumble that’s almost too quiet for Yuuri to hear, he adds, “besides, he likes you better.”

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to do it,” Yuuri says, which both of them know means that Yuuri’s already decided.

Victor pouts, bottom lip pushed out and pink. “Well, one of us was cruelly lured in here with the promise of a blowjob. And it wasn’t you.”

“This is not helping your case at all.”

“But you love me.” Even after a year of marriage, sometimes Victor still phrases it like a question, a lilting “but you love me,” the inflected pronoun trailing upward like a high flying kite of uncertainty.

“But I love you,” Yuuri agreed, and then kisses it into his mouth.

“So the blowjob?”

Victor lets out a whine as Yuuri untangles himself from his arms. “Maybe later. If you’re good.”

That does it. Victor shoots up, hair rumpled, “I can be good.”

“Prove it,” Yuuri says, before dragging Victor back towards the door and into the fray.

When they re-enter the fray, the conversation in the room swells to an unreasonably loud volume, a volley of practiced, stilted conversation.

“Target sighted,” Victor whispers in Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri shivers a little. “Victor, there are four other people here. It’s not that hard to spot him.”

“So, did you have a good ‘talk’?” Mila says, with audible air quotes.  

Victor starts to open his mouth but Yuuri beats him to it. “We put our mouths to good use,” he says, as a flush blooms across the tops of his cheekbones.

The comforting weight of Victor’s arm curls around Yuuri’s waist, pulling him flush against Victor’s side. “ _Very_ good use,” Victor agrees, punctuating it with a wink.

A loud crash sounds in the kitchen, metal hitting wood. “Fuck.” Yuuri sees Yuri’s blonde head duck behind the island.

“Romance is alive and well,” Georgi sniffs, pretending (?) to wipe a tear from the corner of his eyes. Yuuri notices that the glass cradled in his hand is empty.

“That’s a funny way to pronounce blowjob, Georgi.” Mila’s lips twitch, fighting off a laugh. Ultimately, she loses. Yuuri hears it bubble over as he kisses Victor on the cheek, steels himself, and weaves his way through the piles of gifts and suddenly incredibly inconveniently placed furniture. Yuri still hasn’t gotten up from the floor.

“Yuri,” Yuuri says. Yuri refuses to look at him, gathering invisible crumbs from the floor. “What did you drop?” No, wait, that’s not what Yuuri meant to say, fuck.

“Pelmeni,” Yuri mutters, eyes still glued to the floor.

Yuuri sighs and crouches down next to him. “Looks like you’ve gotten all of them.” He clears his throat, the dry air of the apartment sticky in his esophagus. “And speaking of things you’ve gotten—"

“What I’ve got,” Yuri says, face a furious shade of red, “is to go stop Georgi from reading all of Zhukovsky’s works. You didn’t have to put up with it the last five years, and if you’re lucky, you won’t find out.”

Yuuri sneaks a glare back towards where Georgi’s sitting. “I don’t see any books I think we’re safe. So, Yuri—"

“Oh, no. Look at that, Georgi’s choking on his words, I better go help him. Bye!” Yuuri didn’t think it was possible for Yuri’s face to pick up any more color, but even Yuri’s capillaries clearly had a dogged determination to prove him wrong. They were far more convincing that Yuri’s acting. No wonder his interpretation scores were so inconsistent.

Victor snakes over to Yours side, hooking his chin over Yuuri’s shoulder. “So?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“If you’re going to be like that, I’d like to see you try and do better.”

“We agreed that you would do it!”

“Well, then, give me more time! He made up some excuse about Georgi choking and fled.”

“Sounds like Yuri’s been sneaking a look at your manual of avoidance tactics,” Victor snorts, huffing his laughter into Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, there was that one time right after I started coaching you when you told me that you had to go exorcise a lamp.”

“You brought at least _five_ lamps to Hasetsu. There was a decent probability that at least one of them was possessed.” Yuuri refused to mention that he’d justified his own, admittedly terrible, excuse to himself with the logic that Victor’s guaranteed perennially perfect lighting no matter the time or place could only be the result of a demonic pact. Lamps were a light source. So one of them must be possessed. Obviously. A + B = C. Flawless logic.

“I don’t think they would have let me through customs with a possessed lamp.”

“ _Victor_.”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Victor says, leaning back. 

“I’ve decided right now, your gift is already void.” Yuuri untangles himself from Victor’s arms.

“You can’t take it back! It’s mine!” Victor gasps.

“Hmmm…no, I think it’s Yuri’s now.”

“You’re awfully calm for someone whose intimate gift is in the wrong person’s hands.”

If Yuuri thinks about how embarrassed he is he’ll literally evaporate. ”Maybe your lack of shame is rubbing off on me.”

Yuuri knows what Victor’s going to say before he even opens his mouth just from the set of his smile. “I’ve definitely rubbed off—“

“If you finish that sentence I’m never wearing ankle socks again. Trouser height only. Cotton. From the Men’s section.”

Victor pales. “You’re too powerful.” Then he brightens, “does this mean my gift has to do with your feet? Are you finally going to let me lick—”

Yuuri holds an index finger against his bottom lip, imitating Victor’s own gesture. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know what will make you suffer the most.” Then Yuuri drags his finger over his own bottom lip. Victor shivers in response.

It’s almost too easy.

“Yuuuuuri.”

“I can’t hear you over the sound of your own desperation.”

Victor sighs, and reaches an arm out for Yuuri, who snuggles into his embrace again. “I remember when you couldn’t talk to me without blushing. And now look at you.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Never.”

Yuuri stays in Victor’s arms a little longer. It’s soothing. The way his arms press into Yuuri’s sides, caging him in his embrace. He feels loved, contained, grounded.  Victor’s arms are warm, and Yuuri’s fighting off a bout of stress napping. Victor’s arms are his new home. He lives here now. He’ll share the rent and everything.

In the living room, a burst of laughter erupts amid a flurry of slurred Russian. Yuuri’s too wound up to parse the words through the alcohol. He’s sure whatever the story is will float around the rink for weeks on end as though someone were piping it through the sound system on a loop. Like Christmas music in America as soon as Thanksgiving has passed. That’s what happened the time Georgi fell off a chair at dinner and then proposed to it in a drunken haze. Even Lilia could recite the story verbatim by the end of the month.

Yuuri drags himself out of Victor’s embrace. Fuck Past Yuuri. It’s his fault that Current Yuuri is a lobster in a slow boiling pot of water, unable to realize the heat was rising until things were already at a boil.

Victor presses a kiss to the top of his head before Yuuri slinks off to meet his fate. He’s had walks of shame that were less embarrassing than this—even when his clothes had had to be burned afterwards.

Yuri’s skulking around the main couch. It’s stuffed far beyond comfort or capacity. There’s a body on either arm rest and draped across the back. Everyone is covered in silly string. Yuuri has no idea how that happened. Lilia is now wearing a silly string mustache as she calmly sips her bourbon neat. Yuri’s just stuffed another pirozhki in his mouth to avoid conversation. Yuuri’s impressed by his technique—large mouthfuls of food, dedicated chewing, minuscule gaps of time between one bite and the next. Impressive avoidance tactics. Definitely advanced technique.

When he’s halfway across the broad expanse of the living, picking his way through furniture and various party detritus, Yuuri can finally hear what Mila’s saying.

“You’re such a brilliant conversationalist, Yura. Maybe you should give up skating and pursue public speaking.”

Yuri scowls at her around a mouthful of pirozhki. He says something that might be “shut up, Baba,” but it’s hard to tell through the food. Yuuri can tell the exact moment Yuri notices him because he starts choking. Georgi’s drunk enough to hand Yuri a glass of vodka instead of water. It’s not very effective.

Yuuri slides around the back of the spindly wooden chair where Yuri’s perched himself.

He's never been so glad that Celestino's mandatory CPR lessons—or so embarrassed to save someone from choking. Yuri forces air through his windpipe as soon and Yuuri wraps his arms around Yuri's stomach. It only makes the choking worse. If only there was a Heimlich Maneuver for mortification. Yuuri's Google search history is a Gordian Knot of: foot creams, gold plated pedicure sets, collars, those mini marshmallows that come in those boxes of Lucky Charms Victor pretends he doesn't know about, and slight variations on "coroner shame death help".

Victor knows the passcode to his phone (1225). Yuuri's not above leveraging those searches into some actual help.

By the time Yuuri's freed the pirozhki lodged in Yuri's throat, they've set a new world record for greatest physical distance between two persons who've successfully completed the Heimlich Maneuver. Victor has photo evidence because he is the actual worst. Yuuri knows that they're going to end up on glossy eight by elevens in the scrapbooks Victor keeps in the guest bedroom. When Chris had asked if he could stay in their apartment, Yuuri had opened the door to the guest room. Just a fraction. Chris was subsequently buried in katsudon plushes, eros egg timers, and a life size cardboard cutout of Yuuri that Victor had somehow managed to sneak into the apartment.

On his better days, Yuuri resolutely ignores the fact that Phichit and Victor are absolutely swapping incriminating photos of him and focuses on the fact that they've become friends. On the worst, he tickles Victor until he coughs up his phone so that Yuuri can delete the worst ones.

The number of photos he actually deletes is always zero. Victor is a good coach precisely because he knows Yuuri's weaknesses. And he uses the Grand Canyon sized fault line of Okay Okay I Give Up You Can Keep The Pictures to his advantage every time.

("That name really is a mouthful, Yuuri. Phichit and I will come up with a better one. And then we'll scrapbook your reactions for a Twitter poll."

Yuuri regrets everything. But he can only blame himself. He chose this. )

"Yuuri I got some great photos! Yura do you want to see?" Victor beams, waving his phone like a white flag.

Even though he's no longer choking, Yuri's face burns a darker shade of red.

"Actually, Yuri,can we—"

Yuri's face very clearly says, "no, we can't," but Yuuri's always had a little trouble listening to what other people want.

"So about your gi—"

"Mila. Lift Me." Yuri demands, flinging himself into Mila's arms. She catches him sheerly from muscle memory, raising him above her head, his arms and legs positioned as though he's flying.

"Is this my present, Yura? You're so thoughtful, it's everything a girl could want."

Mila _clearly_ knows something is up—as if Yuri's ridiculous request wasn't enough, Yuuri knows his attempt to contain the rapid geyser of panic welling in his chest from erupting on his face is failing. Miserably.

"Did you get everything you wanted, Yura? You had quite the reaction when you opened your gift earlier." Mila's mouth curls into a sly smirk. She presses her lips together, lowering Yuri so that he faces her and twirls him around. "Did Prince Charming finally ask you to the ball? Did you want to borrow an outfit?"

"Shut up, _Ludmila_. And put me down."

Mila sets him on his feet and Yuri continues, "besides, didn't the last asshole you dated cheat on you? It's not like you'd know anything about Prince Charming."  

From the couch, Georgi bursts into a fresh round of tears. His sobs sound like the name “Svetlana.”

Mila feigns wiping a tear from her eye. "What we had was beautiful while it lasted.” Then a lazy smile blooms across her face. “Besides, who needs Prince Charming when Sara's coming to visit in a few days. I've already trimmed my nails and everything."

Yuri turns to Lilia. "I won a gold medal in Barcelona."

Lilia raises a disinterested eyebrow. It's the barest twitch of motion.

"I lived up to my end of the bargain, Lilia. So hold up yours. Collect my soul."

Mila bursts into laughter.

"I would prefer not to," Lilia says. Her tone is flat, almost offended—as though Yuri had shown her an insufficient turn-out.

Yuuri forces out a laugh. It barely cuts through the molasses-thick silence that's descended on the living room. "So, Yurio. Since you're not facing eternal damnation or anything—"

Turning on his heel, face flushed the color of borscht, Yuri hurls the coupon book right into the center of Yuuri's chest. "You can take your disgusting gift back. You've ruined paper cranes for me forever."

"Um—" Yuuri starts, voice cracking.

He glares. It's only mildly menacing. It has nothing on Yuuri's own Mariana's Trench of Shame.  "I hope the origami one gives you paper cuts," he hisses before fleeing the apartment so fast Yuuri swears he sees smoke rising from his footsteps.

Lilia's face remains expressionless as she breaks the silence that follows Yuri's flight. "Still crumbling under pressure. It's too early to collect on our bargain."

No one is sure if she's joking or not.

The party dissolves after that. Mila has to wake up early to get Sara from the airport. Yakov eyes Lilia warily as he follows her out the door. Yuuri catches him checking his own pulse. Georgi wishes them luck with their "origami lessons" and stumbles out the door.

Yuuri is left to survey the physical and emotional wreckage of Victor's birthday party before burying his face into Victor chest.

"We'll clean up tomorrow," Victor says before pressing a kiss to Yuuri's temple and steering him into their bedroom.

Still clothed, Yuuri flops on the bed and lies on his side so that he and Victor are facing one another. "I hope you enjoyed knowing Yurio because neither of us is ever talking to him again. He knows too much."

Victor winces. "Well...."

Yuuri narrows his eyes. " _Well what?_ "

"I...might have given your present to Yurio for safe keeping?"

"Is that a question!?"

"No?"

"Victor!"

"I didn't want to ruin the surprise!"

Yuuri sighs. “How many leopard print hoodies do you think it'll take to buy Yurio’s amnesia?”

Victor considers this for a moment before replying, “Enough that I'm going to have to contact my merchandiser. And if that doesn't work, I'll get you that nice used pirate ship."

At least when they run away in shame they can do it together.

**Author's Note:**

> acknowledgements:
> 
> +lianne/doodlesonice for the concept of the sex coupons fiasco  
> +forochel for listening to me whine and revise the plot of this five times  
> +nuri for the last minute beta especially since you were sleepy.  
> +renaissance for listening to me yell about this. a lot.  
> +kixboxer for also letting me yell about this and for having a twenty minute long conversation with me about socks  
> +lazulisong for her tumblr post about The Chads (TM) and Yuuri's hockey harem  
> +my terrible brain for concept of having to pack for a flight tomorrow inspiring me to procrastinate that instead of this. i should write a self help book, obviously. instant best seller. 
> 
> other things:  
> +georgi reads zhukovsky because nabokov considered him a poet who was ALMOST amazing/legendary but not quite. which...poor georgi  
> +svetlana is a reference to one of the poems zhukovsky translated into russian  
> +i'm [katsukiyuuristrophyhusband on tumblr](http://katsukiyuuristrophyhusband.tumblr.com)


End file.
